


Whistle and I'll come to you

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Light Angst, M/M, Seaside, Smut, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Aziraphale goes on a seaside holiday, to find his cottage already has a spectral inhabitant...Or, how many established authors can you spot that I nicked plot from?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	Whistle and I'll come to you

Aziraphale unlocked the cottage door with a satisfied sigh. Two whole weeks to himself. No Gabriel looming over his shoulder, no customers to chase away... _Bliss_.

He took his time over unpacking. The chest of drawers had old lady-ish lavender sachets in each drawer, which he secretly rather liked. And the wardrobe had padded hangers in similar style. Old fashioned. Aziraphale _liked_ old fashioned. The cottage itself looked at least two hundred years old, maybe more.

Later, he went for a walk along the cliffs. Tentatively crept up to the edge, to admire the view. The weather wasn't fantastic – overcast – but it _was_ very dramatic. Aziraphale approved of the view, and wandered on. He'd refused all offers of loaned digital cameras, although he did bring along supplies to do some sketching. But for now he just wanted to soak in the atmosphere. Take his time over things.

There were several routes down to the beach, some more precarious than others. He chose the one with steps and a sensible handrail. Wouldn't want to do himself a mischief.

The sand was _lovely_. Bit damp – he'd taken off his shoes and socks at first opportunity, to gain the full seaside experience. Be present in each moment.

He went up to where the tide was lapping at the shore, and examined a washed up jellyfish. Poor sod. It brought back a vivid memory of his awful cousin stomping on one as a child. _Horrid_.

Next, the base of the cliffs. The sea would rush right up to them later. It was all a bit brutal, in a lovely sort of way.

He headed home after that. It would be growing dark soon, and he wasn't sure of the way. Best not to overdo things.

The cottage was as welcoming as he'd first thought. It felt lived in, even if it was just a holiday rental. He switched on the lamps in the living room, and explored the bookshelves and knick knacks. The books were only a mixture of cookery books and Reader's Digests, but they did look well-loved.

One thing that did catch his eye was a rather fetching bone or ivory whistle. Someone had clearly spent hours hand-carving it years ago. There had once been an inscription, now faded beyond recognition, but the little snake figure along the bottom edge had survived.

Such a lovely instrument was surely meant to be played. Aziraphale summoned up memories of childhood recorder lessons with little success, but when he placed his fingers at random over the holes and blew, the note was sweet nonetheless. _Charming_. He put the whistle down and patted it, satisfied.

Having picked out the plumpest armchair of the two, Aziraphale settled down with a book. He was increasingly drawn to biographies these days. Whole lives noted down and set into order. It soothed him.

He wondered whether to open a bottle of wine, but decided against it. Two whole weeks of relaxation ahead of him, there was no need to rush anything. So, a book and an early night.

The bed was very comfortable. It was a double, and Aziraphale settled himself on the right hand side with only a slight pang of regret. Most days he didn't mind his solitude at all.

He slept easily at first, but was then awakened several times in the night by a loud scratching noise. Rats? He vaguely mused about putting some cheese out for them, and fell back asleep. By the third awakening he was no longer disturbed by it at all, and merely murmured to the room “Oh _do_ be quiet, I'm trying to get some rest.” Strangely, the rats heeded that, and he slept through the rest of the night soundly.

His second day was _delightful_. He set out bright and early, and went along the beach in the other direction this time, with a picnic lunch to look forward to later. There were various sea birds, which he played at naming aloud with increasing degrees of confidence, when he decided that after all there was nobody there to correct him.

Lunch consisted of three types of cheese, biscuits, and an apple. Followed by a bar of rather cheap milk chocolate, because he was on holiday and didn't have to keep up any pretences at _all_ , Gabriel. A sweet tooth wasn't going to kill him.

As he wandered back towards the cottage, he sometimes thought he saw a tall figure following a way behind him. But whenever he turned right round to check, there was nobody there. Odd.

Again, in the cottage, he felt as if someone was watching him. Not in a menacing sort of way, there was just a strange sense of... companionship. Still, as it was really quite pleasant he just got on with his day, and fished out his drawing materials.

The view from the living room window was absolutely _splendid_ , and Aziraphale did several sketches. The view out to sea from two different angles, and a very obliging crow who held a number of different poses for him. “Not bad at all,” he declared his drawings before putting them aside.

He'd brought several days' worth of pasta with him, in quite a good batch of sauce. So he reheated some of that for tea, and crumbled some of the cheese on top.

A little dubious of his own sanity, he also left a lump out – of his least favourite cheese – for the rat. Must be cracking up.

Tonight it wasn't the rat that disturbed his sleep. It was the knocking at the front door. Faint at first, so he thought it must be the wind knocking some trees against the cottage walls. Never mind that there hadn't been any trees there this morning. Anyway, he was _very_ cosy in his lovely warm bed, and wasn't about to get up and check. Not the first, second or third time at least.

The fourth set of knocks were _very_ insistent, and didn't sound at _all_ like trees. So, grumbling, Aziraphale switched on the bedside lamp and shuffled through to the front door. The knocking continued unabated.

“Yes, _alright_... I'm coming.” He wrenched open the door.

Outside was a ghostly figure that managed to be both pale and spectral, _and_ very definitely all dressed in black. Tall, gangly. Redheaded.

“I can see right through you,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm a ghost. Can we skip that bit? It's freezing out here. Can I come in?”

“Are you a vampire? I'm not going to invite you in if you're a vampire.”

“How many see through vampires do you meet? I'm a ghost. A _polite_ ghost. Now, can I come in or not?”

“Well, yes. It is rather chilly. In you come.”

And that apparently was how you ended up perched on one armchair, with a skinny but rather imposing ghost sprawled on another.

Aziraphale didn't really know where to begin.

“I'm, um...”

“Aziraphale Fell, London, two weeks.”

“ _What?_ How did you -”

“Cleaning lady. She talks to herself. I'm Crowley. Resident ghost.”

“ _Oh_... Well then. It's – it's a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

“Is it?”

“Well yes, absolutely. Does that mean there weren't any rats?”

“Mice. Little idiots. They'll appreciate the cheese though. _Anyway_. It's your holiday, what do you make of the place?”

Crowley's staccato way of talking was a little hard to follow. Still, Aziraphale tried to keep up.

“It's _lovely_. The view, the fresh air... And it's a _darling_ little cottage!”

“You think?” Crowley raised one eyebrow in query.

“Absolutely! Why – was it yours?”

“Mmm. Never really cared for it myself. Not when I was alive at least. It's grown on me a bit since though,” he conceded.

“Did you – did you die a long time ago then?”

“Yep. Look, are you going to open that?” Crowley gestured at a bottle of red on the kitchen counter.

“You can _drink?_ ”

“Years of practice. Go on, crack it open.”

Aziraphale had always been an attentive host – or was it guest? Anyway, he poured two glasses of wine, nice and full.

“Cheers.”

They drank.

“Were you really out there all that time? After all, it _is_ your cottage...”

“What, was I supposed to sneak in and ogle you getting changed out of your tartan underpants?”

“You – you... _Spied_ on me?”

“Look, it's not my fault if you don't close the bloody curtains! Once I realised you were getting changed I went for a walk to the cliffs and back. All the best ghost activity happens once people have gone to bed anyway.”

“Oh! Well, that's alright then. Aren't the cliffs lovely? So _dramatic!_ ”

“Uh, yeah. Dramatic. Good wine, this.”

“Oh, do you think so? I picked it up in France years ago. Thought it was past time to get through some of my stores.”

“You travel much?”

“Oh, not really. Europe, mostly. I've become quite rooted in London these past few years.”

“I never left England.”

“Oh my _dear_ , I'm sorry. I suppose there was less opportunity for travel when you were...”

“Yeah. Would you – would you tell me about it? Europe.”

“I'd love to.”

They talked half the night away. He told Crowley about France, about Madrid and the times he stayed up far too late drinking gin and speaking terrible Spanish. About the _lovely_ gay nightlife in Berlin. Crowley's eyes lit up at that bit. _Ah_.

Crowley was _delightful_ company. It was with much regret – and a little yawning – that Aziraphale said he'd better get to bed.

“Will you be alright, my dear?”

“Yeah, I've kipped in here plenty of times. Shame they got rid of the sofa. See you in the morning, angel!”

“Oh! Good night then.”

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to expect the next morning. He got dressed as normal, before heading hesitantly through to the living room.

Crowley was still there in the armchair, snoring. And still definitely transparent. Aziraphale could see the pattern of the upholstery through his body.

Uncertain of how to wake a ghost, but determined to start his day without tiptoeing around, Aziraphale settled on blowing some air onto Crowley's face.

Crowley leapt about a foot in the air, so that apparently did the trick.

“Morning! Would you like some eggs?”

“Whuh?”

“Eggs. For breakfast. I can make toast if you'd like.”

“Uh... I'm fine. Never was one for eating much back then, doesn't seem much point in starting now.”

So Aziraphale cooked and ate his eggs. Scrambled, on toast.

“So, you can leave the cottage?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well then! Would you like to come for a walk with me? To the cliffs, perhaps?”

“Uh... How about the beach? Less gloomy.”

It was lovely having some company at the beach. Crowley picked around the debris brought up by the tide, and pointed out anything of interest. Pretty shells, pieces of glass worn smooth. Aziraphale put the best of them in his pocket to take home with him.

Crowley's feet couldn't seem to decide between hovering on the surface of the sand, and sinking into it. So that was a bit odd. No footprints, either. But other than that, it felt utterly natural to spend a day at the beach with him.

Equally natural then, to spend a second and third day doing the same. Still, on the night of the third day Aziraphale had questions.

“Crowley, why won't you go to the cliffs with me?”

“Why do you think?” Crowley shot back.

“How did you die?”

Crowley paused before answering. “Of stupidity. Look, we'll go tomorrow. Alright?”

“We don't have to.”

“It's _fine_.”

They went. It was a miserable, rainy day, but Crowley insisted. He marched them up to a particularly windswept spot.

“Look, that's where. I jumped from _there_ , ok?”

“Oh, _Crowley_... Why did you do it?”

“Eurgh. I was in love. And. He married someone else. Some woman he didn't even know. So I went and I took a flying leap. Been here ever since.”

“I'm so sorry. Have you really been suffering all this time?”

“Eh. It's fine. I sleep a lot. Whistle wakes me up. And I have regulars, people who stay at the cottage. Some of them are alright. You could come back again too?”

“I... Perhaps. I'd like to, if I can.”

“Look, this is miserable. Fancy heading back to the cottage for some day drinking?”

“ _Absolutely_.”

Their hands brushed once, it was like a static electric shock. They both jumped.

“ _Fuck_. Sorry, angel. Always happens. Can't touch the living.”

“How sad...”

“I mean, why would you want to touch a _ghost?_ ”

Two weeks was passing too quickly. Aziraphale found himself utterly absorbed in Crowley's company. But there was so much left to _do_ in London.

“You'll come back, won't you?”

“...I'll try.”

Crowley was moody for the rest of the day after that exchange.

Aziraphale felt a thundering headache coming on one evening towards the end, and sat down on the beach with a thump.

“You alright?” Crowley looked worried.

“Yes... I'm fine, I think. Just a headache. It'll pass.”

Crowley sat down by him. “Clouds look pretty today.”

“Mmm, don't they.”

“That one looks like your face.”

“Balls it does. Looks more like a baboon.”

“What the fuck's a baboon?”

The last day was hard.

“Don't go, angel.”

“I have to. I'm sorry.”

Aziraphale had a thought. “If I took the whistle with me, would you come too?”

“Nah, tried that. Kid that comes every year, Adam. He took it for me, but it just meant I slept on and off till the next summer.”

“Oh... That's that then. I'll come back though, if I can.”

Crowley just glowered at him suspiciously.

“I mean it, Crowley. I do. You've... You've given me hope. I'll come back if I can. Autumn, maybe.”

_Autumn:_

“ _Angel?_ ”

“Hello, dear.”

“ _Aziraphale_. Why are you a ghost? You didn't -” Crowley glanced meaningfully at the cliffs.

“Of _course_ not. I was just... I wanted to come back here, one way or another. And here I am.”

“ _That's not an explanation_.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I'm _explaining_. I had an aneurysm.” Crowley looked blank, so Aziraphale hurried to explain. “It's a medical condition. In your brain. And, well, it burst. So I died.”

After a long pause, Crowley glared accusingly. “You _knew_.”

“Well, yes. I had a bump in the car, they did a scan and... I knew.”

“That whole time, you let me moan about being dead, and you _knew?_ ”

“Crowley, you were _really_ very lovely. You gave me hope. It was... nice.”

At this, Crowley leapt towards him with a snarl and grabbed him by the arm.

“I am _not_ nice!”

“Oh! Oh Crowley, you can _touch_ me!”

Crowley squeezed his arm experimentally, and cracked up into a grin.

“Can I...” Aziraphale reached out hesitantly.

“Yeah, angel. Anything.”

He cupped Crowley's face, and leaned in. They kissed, hesitantly and then urgently, like teenagers.

“Fuck, angel... I can _feel_ you.”

“Less talking. Busy.”

They ended up rolling around the cottage floor for a good twenty minutes, before they remembered there was a double bed in the next room.

“Now, I know this may seem a _little_ forward, but... should we get undressed?”

“Angel, I haven't got laid in _centuries_. But look.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and suddenly was naked.

“Oh! That's _very_ good. Let me try.” Aziraphale followed suit.

“ _Fuck_ , you're gorgeous.” Crowley was running his hands all over Aziraphale's body, clearly revelling in even the less-than-conventionally gorgeous bits. He bit out a groan when he reached Aziraphale's already leaking cock. “Can I...”

“Anything, darling.”

Anything proved to be Crowley ducking down between his legs, swallowing him down without any further preamble.

“Oh _God_... That feels good.” He reached down to tangle his hands in Crowley's hair. Which only added to Crowley's enthusiastic efforts, _especially_ when Aziraphale gave an experimental little twist and tug. Ghosts could still have a masochist streak, it seemed.

Crowley was _good_ at giving head. He quickly learned which things made Aziraphale shudder and moan, When to lap at his sensitive cockhead, and when to bob down and swallow him to the hilt. Frankly, it was the best sex Aziraphale had had in years.

“ _Crowley_...” Aziraphale tightened his grip in that gorgeous red hair, hips twitching. Crowley was doing some absolutely _magical_ things with his tongue, and Aziraphale soon found himself gasping his way through his climax.

After overtly sucking and lapping up every last drop, Crowley crawled up to lie beside him.

“Good?”

“ _Marvellous_ , my dear. Would you like me to...” He gestured vaguely.

“Later, we've got time. Could you – just hold me?”

“Love to.”

They lay together, Aziraphale holding this strange miraculous creature tight and rejoicing.

“Angel...”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Where did you die?”

“London. Barely felt a thing in the end!”

“Right. So – not that I'm not grateful – but why are you _here?_ ”

“Ahem. I was _smuggled_.”

“You what?”

“Well. I died. And it all went fuzzy for a bit, and then I found myself at my own funeral. _Dreadfully_ dull. Gabriel – that's my brother – gave me a simply _awful_ eulogy. _And_ he didn't play the right music. Anyway, he went on and on about how we'd all be reunited in heaven. Except I'd rather made other plans...”

“What did you _do?_ ”

“Well, I got my friend Tracey – she's absolutely _lovely_ , you must meet her – I got her to swap out my ashes a few days later, when she went to pay her respects. Family didn't suspect a _thing!_ Anyway, she took a trip to the coast, tossed them off a cliff, and here I am!”

“She _swapped your ashes?_ ”

“That's right.”

“What _for?_ ”

“I believe it was three cocker spaniels. _Lovely_ dogs, she had them all in urns... Anyway, Gabriel's got the dogs, and you've got me!”

“You know, you seem a lot cheerier now that you're dead.”

“Well, weight off my mind and all that. You seem a fair bit cheerier too.”

“There is that...”

“Fancy a walk along the beach?”

“And get out of bed?”

“Do you know, I never in my _life_ had sex on the beach?”

“Well, you're not alive now, but it's never too late...”

**Author's Note:**

> Valvopus: where do you think ectoplasm comes from?


End file.
